


This House of Bones

by A_Farnese



Series: Penumbra [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: BAMF Merlin, Magic, Magic Revealed, Merlin - Freeform, Merlin AU, Merlin's Magic Revealed, Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2014-11-30
Packaged: 2018-02-27 12:18:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2692694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Farnese/pseuds/A_Farnese
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After failing to conquer Camelot, Morgana opens herself to new and darker magics as she prepares for the future. When her next attack forces Merlin to reveal his magic, he finds his friendship with Arthur tested to its limits as the Prince prepares to make the most difficult decision of his life. First story of the Penumbra series. AU, set just after the end of Series 3.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This House of Bones

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Merlin and its characters do not belong to me. No money is being made from this.

Lady Morgana Pendragon sat alone in the ruins of her father's hall. Not the father who had been the vessel of the seed that gave her life, but the father whose memory she kept close to her heart. The father who had been betrayed, murdered, and forgotten. There, in storm-tossed Tintagel, Morgana's memories brought Lord Gorlois to life again. She saw the man, tall and strong, walking across the threshold with eyes flashing like lightning. A man worthy of the praises his men heaped upon him; a good man and a loving father. If she could cast away her Pendragon blood, she would, but in doing so she would rescind her claim to the throne of Camelot, the throne that was hers by right of blood. The throne her blood-father had denied her because he did not want to acknowledge his weakness, would never acknowledge that he could sire a sorceress. He would have sent her to the flames if he had known, and for all his high talk of justice and equality, Morgana knew his son, Arthur, was no better.

She drew in a deep breath and rose to her feet, catching a flash of scarlet at the edge of her vision. The color of Camelot. She looked down at the red velvet gown she still wore, finding it suddenly revolting. _'Never again,'_ she vowed _'I will never wear this color until I re-take my rightful place.'_ She tore at the laces, ripping the fine cloth where it would not willingly loosen until it lay in a puddle on the stone floor at her feet. She stepped out of it and the fine shoes, pulled the earrings free and tossed them into the pile as well, shedding the trappings of her old life until she was left with nothing but a simple white shift. Then, with a word, she set it alight and watched the flames devour the finery. She felt . . . free. For the first time in her life, the path she walked was her own, of her own making. There was only one thing left to do.

Morgana walked out into the gathering storm, picking her way through the broken stones and debris of the old castle. The stone was cold under her feet and it was more memory than not that guided her through winding hallways, under soaring archways, and up narrow staircases until she reached the highest tower. The Goddess waited for her there, the Morrigan in all her fury, wrapped in driven rain and darkness. Open-eyed, Morgana walked into it, a lonely figure woven of moonlight and the velvet night, arms spread wide to embrace her Goddess until the deluge washed her clean again. The wind strengthened and drove her to her knees. For a moment she tried to rise again until an echoing voice whispered into her mind, ringing in her head like a bell.

_'A good servant kneels to her Goddess. Would you serve me, Morgana Pendragon?'_

She gasped, eyes wide and darting about as she searched for the source of the Voice. A great raven perched on the crenellation before her, as still as if it had been a carved out of the dark stone. Laughter sprang to her lips, "Yes! I would be yours until the end of my days!" she called out.

The raven cocked its head. _'Would you swear by the salt in your blood and the air in your lungs?'_

"I swear it!"

_'Would you swear by the vengeance in your heart and the power in your soul?'_

"I swear it!" The wind howled like a thousand wolves, twisting into a vortex around Morgana.

_'Would you swear by your first breath and your last?'_

"I swear it!" A flash of lightning burst around her. Thunder shook the tower.

_'Thrice sworn and thrice blessed, Morgana Pendragon. Be thou a servant unto me through your living and your dying. Surrender thy will unto mine in all thy works, and the wrath of the storm and the fires of heaven shall be at thy command.'_

"I am yours, my Queen,"

 _'Then be thou blessed, my Priestess,'_ The raven took flight, flying straight for her and turning to a wisp of shadow as it reached her. The shade passed through her, sending a rush of power racing through her in an ecstatic thrill. A blast of wind sent a wave of seawater over her, purifying her with salt and rain and untainted air, fusing the woman and the Will into a single force. A warrior queen to sound the call to war against the Pendragon and his kind.

She raised her face to the sky, laughing with abandon. Gone was the Lady Morgana, the proper woman of Camelot. In her place stood a High Priestess of the Triple Goddess, wild-haired and free, alive with the courage to face the storm and the night. "Hear me, Lady! I am Morgana Pendragon, your High Priestess!" she shouted to the lightning-sundered skies, "Here I am in the land Uther Pendragon abandoned. So I lay claim to it and devote it to you! Here I will remain until I attain my throne. Once again the land will be pure and strong with the force of magic flowing through it! The Five Kingdoms will learn to fear you once more!"

Satisfied, the storm eased. Morgana shivered as new strength coursed through her blood. The power of the Goddess now within her. She felt as though she could fly to Camelot right now and sunder the city walls herself. Her laughter rang through the broken towers at the thought. She would need an army first, and right now she had only her own powers, a single neglected castle, and her own wounded sister, sleeping in their mother's old chambers below.

Morgana ghosted back into the citadel, following the winding hallways deep into the citadel until she reached the familiar chambers where Morgause slept, perhaps never to awaken. Whatever that bastard Merlin had done to her had left half of Morgause's beautiful face swollen, bruised, and bleeding. She tucked a lock of wayward hair behind Morgause's ear and smoothed the blankets down before turning to the remnants of Vivienne's wardrobe. The finest garments had long since disappeared- the silks and velvets were too tempting for the Saxon marauders to pass up. They had left little behind, but Morgana found a gown that suited her perfectly. Black as a raven's wing, the fine linen had been overlooked in the shadows. She stripped out of the salt-encrusted shift and pressed the gown against herself, marveling at the patterning like spider webs and the exactness with which it fit. Had she dragged a seamstress with her from Camelot, it could not fit better once she tightened the lacings and settled the fabric over her curves. She caught a glimpse of herself in a tarnished silver mirror and smiled. Already, she looked like a queen. She had only to reclaim her kingdom and with the help of the Triple Goddess, she could not fail.

She ascended to the great hall once more, lighting the long dormant torches with a gesture and sweeping the draping cobwebs away with a thought. She allowed herself to bathe in memories for a time, thinking back to the great celebrations that had once taken place in this very hall, when Gorlois and Vivienne held court in splendor only slightly less regal than the court of Camelot. They were happy days, and they had ended too soon. After Uther refused to send troops to aid Gorlois against the depredations of the neighboring kingdom of Rheged, Vivienne could not hold the castle for long. It fell prey to Rheged, and Vivienne fell victim to the Sweating Sickness. Two years later, Rheged abandoned Tintagel to the Saxon hordes. So much had been lost.

With a sigh, Morgana banished her reveries and took her place on the ducal chair again. She sat tall, as proud and straight as she had when the crown of Camelot was placed on her head, but without the court to praise her. _'I must summon my people. They must come to me here, and then we can begin this great work.'_

Midnight was approaching when she rose to her feet and padded through the castle, collecting this item and that one that she would need for her ritual before settling in her mother's solar with a battered silver bowl, a slender knife, and a raven's feather in her hand. Dropping to her knees, she set the bowl down and put the feather within it. She drew the knife across her palm until blood flowed. Morgana added it to the bowl as well, whispering words of power to call the remnants of the Morrigan's followers to her, a call that would sweep across the Five Kingdoms and into their dreams. With a final breath of power, Morgana set the bloodied feather alight. The flame wound itself into an expanding spiral before it burst away in all directions sending out her call.

She sat back on her heels then, her gaze rising out the window to the storm outside. The Goddess's storm. _'Patience, Morgana,' she counseled herself, 'All things will go your way in time. You only need patience.'_

* * *

 

_****Merlin dreamed of storms over a craggy tower by the sea. It was a lonely tower, made of dark grey stone, its battlements crumbling from years of disuse and the endless winds. All through the long winter and the snows that had kept them close to the city of Camelot, Merlin had dreamed of it. The tower, the storms, and a woman in white sending out a nearly irresistible call to join her. If he hadn’t felt the malevolence buried within the summons he might have gone, it was so strong. But he resisted the call, if not the dream, spending the long nights trying to discover the woman’s identity. She never seemed the same, shifting from a raven-haired maiden to a withered crone to a mother with hair of spun gold, always changing and changing and changing. As closely as Merlin drew with each dream, she managed to elude him, spinning away from his outstretched fingers as though teasing him at a festival dance, leaving a lingering scent of asphodel in her wake. If he had a few more moments to pursue her, to catch her arm and look at her face, he might wrest the secret of her name away from her . . ._

"Merlin, you're going to be late!" Gaius’s call chased the remnants of the dream away.

The cool light of early dawn barely shone through the little window, and already the physician was busy shuffling about in the main room of their shared chambers. Merlin groaned and scrubbed a hand through his hair. Winter’s snows had brought plenty of time to rest, while the arrival of spring had brought an endless stream of work with nobles and envoys coming in from the outlying regions to meet with Arthur to renew oaths of fealty, try to curry favor, or simply to gauge the political situation since Uther Pendragon’s failing health had forced Arthur into the role of regent. Merlin, of course, was at Arthur's disposal through all of it. Including into the wee hours of the night, and last night had been no exception.

“Merlin!” Gaius called again when he failed to appear.

With a regretful glance at his warm blankets, Merlin tore himself out of bed, chasing away the last sleep with a splash of cold water on his face. He hurried through his morning ablutions and made it out of his door as Gaius was drawing in a breath to shout at him again. “No need shout, Gaius. I’m up, I’m eating breakfast, and I’m out the door,” Merlin said as he offered his mentor a sunny smile and reached for the bread and steaming mug of tea left for him. “And I know I’m late.”

The healer's arched brow lowered into a minor scowl, "If you wouldn't stay abed so long, you might be able to take your time in the morning."

It was Merlin's turn to scowl. "Gaius, it's hardly dawn. The birds aren't awake yet, and they went to sleep with the sun. I was running messages for Arthur well past midnight," He shrugged into his coat and took a bite of bread. "You'd think with all the squires and pages running about, he'd be able to find one of them, but it's always 'Merlin do this' and 'Merlin do that'."

"You can hardly blame him for the burden on his shoulders, Merlin. Becoming regent means he must take all of Uther's duties as king upon his shoulders, as well as the ones he had before. Carrying such responsibilities is a great burden for anyone to bear, as you well know.”

Merlin refrained from glaring at Gaius. Since his first week in Camelot, his life had been nothing but responsibility for breakfast, and duty at dinner. It had seemed enough to choke upon at first, and while it didn’t grow easier with time, it had become manageable. At least now, with Uther’s mind nearly gone, the chances of Merlin’s finding himself a head shorter were slimmer. “I know, Gaius. I know all about responsibility. And duty. I just wish Arthur would have the pages run his messages around once in a while.” He downed the last of his tea and pocketed a little apple for later.

Gaius chuckled, "You'll have to talk him into that, I'm afraid. And if you don't get moving you'll never have the chance."

"Yesss. I'm going," Merlin rolled his eyes and fled, catching the door before it could slam closed behind him. He half-ran to the kitchens to collect Arthur's breakfast and was only slightly slower on the journey back up and up the stairs to the prince's chambers where he found Arthur already awake and dressed. After a fashion. Merlin raised an eyebrow at his choice; yesterday's tunic and trousers would do for breakfast, but not for the rest of the day with its council meetings and audiences. The Prince Regent of Camelot needed to look commanding, not as if he had slept on the floor all night. Merlin set the breakfast tray on the table next to the papers Arthur perused and pulled a new set of clothes from the wardrobe.

"You'll want to put these on before the Privy Council meets."

"And a good morning to you, too," Arthur looked up long enough to glare at Merlin before he picked up a new parchment, a missive about some treaty or another. "I'm already dressed. I don't need to do it again."

"You wore those clothes yesterday, Arthur, and it shows. They're wrinkled. I know you didn‘t sleep in them, but the rest of Camelot doesn‘t."

The prince did his best to ignore his servant as he started on his breakfast, downing sausage and bread without paying attention to either. "You wear the same thing day in and day out. No one cares. I‘m a little too busy to worry about being fashionable."

"I wore different clothes yesterday. And besides," he draped the new clothing over the changing screen and set about tidying up the rest of the room, "I'm not the Prince Regent of Camelot, am I?"

"As well you're not," Arthur grumbled, but he finally spared a glance for the new clothes. "Why do you care what I'm wearing, anyway?" He set the papers aside and pushed away from the table.

"Because if you look like a half-wit, it reflects poorly on me," Merlin replied.

"And that's your guiding star, is it?" Looking up from his various papers of state, Arthur examined the wrinkled linen sleeve and sighed, deciding that fighting with Merlin over the state of his clothes wasn’t worth the battle.

"One of them, yes. I have a constellation full. Now put those on," he rustled the new clothes as Arthur rolled his eyes and disappeared behind the screen.

They were both quiet for a time, the only sounds from inside being the shuffling of cloth and the clack of a belt buckle. Outside, the city slowly woke up. The cries of the first barkers at the markets filtered through the shuttered windows, along with the sounds of the bells ringing in the new day, songbirds chirping, and the harsh croak of a raven perched near the window. The quiet was, Merlin admitted to himself, growing ominous. "Are you plotting something?" he asked.

"I'm the regent of Camelot, Merlin. I'm always plotting something. But," Arthur trailed off and walked back to the table to finish his breakfast and his work. "There's been so much change in these past months, what with Morgana being a sorceress. And my sister. Half-sister," he corrected, idly shuffling through the papers without bothering to look at any of them. He tossed them away and sighed. "Gaius says my father's . . . condition is not improving. And I knighted a handful of commoners."

"You did," Merlin collected the old clothes for the laundry, "And it proved to be a wise decision. They've been very popular with the people of the lower town. I don't think there's a girl in the whole of the city who hasn't flirted with Lancelot, and Gwaine hasn't paid for a drink since he came back."

Arthur frowned at the last, "Gwaine didn't pay for his drinks the last time he was in Camelot. I ended up paying for them. After you said you would."

"He was very appreciative of it," Merlin paused and looked back at the prince, a sheepish smile creeping across his face, “And so was I.”

"You had better be. Both of you." Arthur scowled at himself for the amount he had paid the innkeeper to keep Gwaine out of trouble and at Merlin for pulling him off the subject. "In any case. With all the changes that have happened, I’ve been . . . feeling a little out of sorts. I think a hunting trip is in order. It would help me take my mind off things. For a little while, anyway.

“Isn’t it a little early in the season for hunting?“ Merlin's shoulders sagged, and not just because of his burden of laundry. He hated hunting. Hated it with a passion born of having been hunted himself. He would never forget the sound of the hounds baying behind him or the thought of Arthur being the one leading the hunt to that Druid camp to 'rescue' Morgana. Loyal servants followed their masters, though, regardless of their own feelings. Or fears. He sighed. "When? And who?”

"A fortnight from now. Any sooner and we'll risk having to take the Marcher lords along and I am sure I will have had enough of hidebound old men by then. Invite Leon, Percival, Elyan, and Lancelot," Arthur said, making an exasperated noise at Merlin's questioning expression, "And Gwaine, too, if you're going make an issue of it. I doubt we’ll find any game worth the sport, but it will be good to get out. Enjoy the fresh air while we can. We’ve been trapped behind these walls all winter. I’m surprised I haven’t run mad yet. And don‘t say a word, Merlin.”

"I said nothing," the servant said, though his lips twitched as he fought to hold back a grin.

"You didn't have to. You had that look on your face." Arthur said.

“There was no look on my face, Sire. It’s just my face.”

Arthur drained his cup of cider and took its measure. “And if you want to keep it so girlishly pale, Merlin, you’ll take that face off to do the rest of your chores.” He flipped the cup end over end in his hand and glanced back at his servant, an imperious look on his face. But mischief sparkled in his eyes.

Merlin eyed the cup, judging both Arthur’s throwing ability and the distance to the door. Sarcastic retorts could wait, he decided. With his arms full of laundry, he wouldn’t be able to defend against projectile weapons. “Fine, then. Laundry, chores. Privy Council session, planning a hunt. You’d think I had nothing to do in a day.”

“Don’t tempt me, Merlin. That list could become endless.”

“It’s already endless,” the servant grumbled just loudly enough for the prince to hear him, then the door was closed against any tin cup retaliations, though Merlin missed the intended effects of his commentary- Arthur’s smile had returned.

* * *

 

Neither of them noticed the raven winging away from the Arthur’s window ledge, or saw its beady eyes flash gold as it soared over the towers of Camelot on its way south toward Tintagel- and Morgana.

* * *

 

A fortnight later found Arthur and his court finally saying farewell to the eastern Marcher Lords, and while Merlin would never voice his sentiments, he was glad to be rid of them. They could hardly be blamed for their anger and intransigence. Twice in the past two years, at the behest of Morgause first, and later Morgana, Cenred’s armies had run roughshod over their lands, destroying crops, ransacking villages, and running the common folk out of their homes when they didn’t kill them, and yet . . . _‘They see the actions of a few people and paint every magic-user with the same black brush, while those of us who want to live in peace are the ones who suffer for it.’_

Merlin kept his expression neutral while he held the reins of Lord Cador’s horse. He’d had plenty of practice keeping his distaste in check during a long afternoon a week before when he’d spent an entire council session refilling the cups of half a dozen lords while they called for a return to the days of witch-hunts and burnings. Cador, he knew, was a loyal subject of Camelot’s crown, but Merlin couldn't forgive him for his endless rounds of suggestions that Arthur send to Amata for a dozen witchfinders to sweep the kingdom clean again.

Arthur finally tabled the notion, though Merlin had the sense that it was due more to his growing tired of the argument rather than his disagreeing with them altogether. Now, though, he was sending the lords home with funds to help rebuild lost settlements and promises of grain and other foodstuffs to tide the eastern lands over until the late spring harvests set things right again. The idea of hiring witchfinders had been set aside for royal consideration.

Merlin had been sorely tempted to burn the papers, but restrained himself, settling for returning the vile documents to the bottom of the endless stack every time he had the chance to.

“M’Lord,” Merlin kept his eyes lowered when he handed the reins to Cador. It was appropriate, given his station as compared to the nobleman’s, but the servant had no desire for Cador to see the distaste in his eyes. Nor did Merlin want to be tempted to do something rude, like magically sabotaging the horse’s saddle so that the noble lord ended up on his noble backside in front of the entire gathering.

“My Lords!” Arthur called out from his place on the stairway, “My friends. I wish to thank you for your visit and bid you welcome to return at any time.” Merlin doubted that anyone but him could tell that the prince’s smile was a forced one, and that Arthur would be doubly glad if he never had to see any of the old men in front of him again. “Know that, in these troubled times, the lords of Camelot are a vital force defending our borders. Without you, Camelot would not be the great kingdom that it is. With this visit, the bonds between our houses are stronger than they have ever been. Go in peace, and may the sun shine brightly on your journey home.”

After a chorus of farewells and ‘Your Highness’ in Arthur’s direction, the lords and their retinues finally departed in a long-awaited cloud of dust. Merlin raced up the steps, catching up with Arthur just in time to hear his muttered, “And may it be a hundred years before your return.” The servant did not bother to hide his mirth. Arthur shot him an irritated glance before his own smirk appeared. “Tell me you have some good news?”

“I do. You will be happy to know that preparations are underway for the hunt, and that the seven of us are set to ride out just after midday. We'll have provisions for three days, the Privy Council is not set to meet for another four days, and as far as anyone can tell, we're going to have fair weather for most of the week."

"Well done, Merlin. You almost sounded competent."

"And you almost sounded regal when you said your farewells to the lords," the servant shot back, earning a punch on the arm for his wit as they jogged up the stairs toward Arthur's chambers.

"I always sound regal, Merlin. I'm the Prince of Camelot."  

“I’d be more convinced of it if you weren’t reminding me all the time,” Merlin said as he busied himself with opening windows to air out the room. It was too fine a day outside to keep the sunshine at bay. He turned back to Arthur to find the prince staring at him with eyes narrowed. Clearly, the last remark had struck home, but Merlin approached him anyway to begin the task of removing the heavy accoutrements of state. He’d faced an angry dragon before. An irate prince was easy enough to mollify.

“What, precisely, was that supposed to mean?” Arthur pulled the crown from his head, setting it on the table with enough force to rattle the candlesticks.

“Only that your actions speak louder than your words. If you want the lords to believe in your ability to rule, you have to be a ruler, for good or for ill. Just saying the words isn‘t enough,” Merlin said as he pulled the ornate cloak from Arthur’s shoulders and carefully draped it over the back of a chair before picking at the laces on the back of the chainmail hauberk.

“Think of Gaius,” Merlin said. “He’s the finest physician in the whole of Camelot, but if you call him wise, or praise him overmuch, he’ll just laugh and say that he still has a lot to learn about medicine. But when someone goes to him with some ailment, they trust that he will do everything he can to make them feel better. He doesn’t seek praise from anyone, just does his duty as it comes to him, and we all have perfect faith in him.” As he peeled the hauberk off, Merlin could see that Arthur was taking his words to heart. “There are worse people to learn from than Gaius.”

“Indeed,” Arthur said thoughtfully. He rolled his shoulders to restore the circulation with a faintly amused glance toward his servant, his irritation having faded away. “One of these days, Merlin, you’re going to irritate me enough you won’t be able to talk your way out of it. And then what will you do?”

“I know how to run.”

“I can outrun you,” Arthur said.

Merlin grinned, “Then I suppose I’ll just have to learn to fly.”

 

* * *

 

True to Merlin’s prediction, they found little game of note in the early spring forest. On the first morning, a young stag had crossed the hunters’ path, a foolish creature still thin and shaggy from the long winter. After a half-mile chase, Arthur had breathlessly waved them all off, letting the creature go without firing a shot. It hadn’t been the kill Arthur sought so much as the thrill of the chase and the freedom that a gallop through the forest entailed.

He and Leon had supplemented their provisions with a few quail they had startled out of their nests, but for the most part, they had all simply enjoyed the sun‘s warmth, the freedom of the forest, and the camaraderie shared by men who had seen enough of darkness together to enjoy the bright spring days as they came.

“I think you’re leading us in circles, Arthur. That’s the third time I’ve seen that rock,” Merlin piped up from behind. True to form, his servant’s complaints had followed him as closely as the knights did. Not that Arthur really minded. Even on the darkest of days, Merlin always had some comment ready, some bit of wit to brighten their spirits. The situation was dire indeed, if Merlin wasn’t complaining.

“We are not lost, Merlin. I know this forest like the back of my hand.” Arthur glanced back at the dark haired boy, biting back a smile, “Are you sure it’s not something out of one of those stories Gaius is always telling you? Maybe it’s a Rock Monster of some kind. One that likes to eat servants who never stop complaining.”

“Maybe it is. It’d certainly put an end to my having to put up with you,” Merlin shot back with a scowl, though his smile didn’t stay hidden for long. “I’m not worried, though. Even if you wouldn’t lift a finger, Lancelot would defend me. Gwaine, too. They like me more.”

“Aye, mate, I would,” Gwaine laughed with the rest of them, “But what does a man fight a rock with? That, I’ll need to know.”

“Given that the rock would be faster than you, Gwaine, I don’t think you’ll need to worry about it for long,” Arthur quipped.

“I don’t need to be much faster than the rock, Princess. Just need to be faster than you.”

“Remind me why we brought him along, Merlin? I’m having a hard time remembering,” Arthur scowled at Gwaine, who responded with a cheerful smirk. “Anyway. If you’re so clever, what do you suggest we use to fight the foul Rock Monster?”

Merlin shrugged his thin shoulders, gazing up at the treetops as he pondered his answer, “I suppose you’d have the best chance of any of us. You’d just have to walk up to it and hit it with your head a few times. Your skull’s dense enough that the Rock Monster would break apart in no time.”

Merlin’s comment set the forest to ringing with the knights’ laughter. Pursing his lips, Arthur fought not to laugh, too. “Now remind me, Merlin, why I brought you along?”

“To keep you humble?” Merlin gave him his best puppy-dog expression, his blue eyes the very picture of assumed innocence.

“Oh. Well. For that, then, you can do the cooking tonight. And see to the horses, keep the fire going, and take the first watch while you’re at it.” The sun was falling low now, draping long shadows across the hills, though the songbirds still sang. Arthur thought he heard a fox yipping somewhere in the distance, and a crow cawing, too. Nightfall approached too quickly for them to reach the castle before full dark and he had no desire to lead them through the forest under a new moon.

“I do all of that already,” Merlin said, his voice fading as another fox yipped behind them. He turned to find it, eyes narrowing as he searched the underbrush for the source.

Arthur refrained from rolling his eyes at the boy. “What is it, Merlin? Another Rock Monster? An evil fox out to get us? I swear,” He shook his head, laughing, “As much as you jump at everything, you should have been named after a frog, not a bird.”

“At least I don’t look like a toad,” Merlin shot back, irritated. When he turned back, though, his glare quickly turned to a sheepish grin.

He did his best to ignore the laughter around him. ‘ _Let them have their fun. The winter was long enough. As for what came before . . ._ ’ If all they asked of him was a moment of humor now and then, who was he to deny it? His father would have frowned upon it, declared that men who laughed at their prince could not respect him, and yet these men- noble born and commoners alike- had bent their knees to him, and followed his orders without question. Arthur had their loyalty and their respect. He didn’t want their fear. “Over there,” he said loudly, gesturing toward a clearing just off the road, “If you’re all quite finished mocking me, we’ll make camp there.”

“Just watch out for toads,” Merlin said.

“And Rock Monsters.”

They made camp quickly, getting the horses settled and a little fire burning before the sun touched the horizon. Speculation continued as to the fighting prowess of Rock Monsters, and whether they were fast or slow, and if their hard shells concealed a soft underbelly like a turtle. They finally decided that Rock Monsters were stupid and a bit slow, but aggressive when irritated. Arthur could tell that Merlin edged toward comparing this new legendary creature to the prince, but stopped at Arthur’s glare. “There are a lot of foxes out tonight, aren’t there?” the boy said instead, referring to the unusual number of yipping creatures in the forest.

“A regular flock of them,” Gwaine agreed. “Is that what you call a bunch of foxes? A flock?”

“No, no flocking there. They’re not sheep. Or pheasants,” Merlin said, “I think a group of them is called a skulk.”

“That’s fitting,” said Leon. “You should go join them, Gwaine. Foxes aren’t the only ones who skulk about henhouses.”

“Hey! I was not skulking. Meara said she’d meet me there. How was I supposed to know she was going to forget all about me because of Bors? Really? Bors? There’s naught in his head but a handful of rocks,” Gwaine protested.

“I’ve heard she prefers rocks. And they’re not all in his head, or so I‘ve been told,” Leon laughed. “Apparently-” he stopped short, blue eyes widening in alarm. “Down!” he shouted as he grabbed Arthur’s shoulder and pulled him to the ground. A crossbow bolt thudded into the tree where the prince’s head had been a moment before.

Arthur surged to his feet, sword in hand, falling into position with the rest of the knights as they encircled the camp back to back, with Merlin pressed into the middle. More bolts buzzed through the air between them, managing to miss every target. Their ambushers, it seemed, were as daunted by the failing light as the defenders were.

The crunching of branches and leaves underfoot were the only warning they had as swordsmen closed in on them and Arthur’s circle of awareness tightened to the sword in his hand and the movement of the man in front of him as he blocked and cut. He hacked at the man’s face, felt the familiar shudder of an enemy’s death when the blade sliced through flesh, sending a spray of red into the air as the man fell, only to be replaced by another and another and another until Arthur’s arm grew weary. Yet none of the attackers made it through the circle of knights, and none of the knights fell.

“Hold!” a new voice called out above the chaos. To a one, the few remaining attackers halted and stepped away as a ring of new warriors appeared in the thin firelight, their movements smooth and resembling nothing so much as the fluid threat of a poisonous viper.

It was not their appearance that stole the breath from Arthur’s lungs, though, but the ivory-pale face behind them, appearing out of the night like a ghost. “Morgana,” he breathed.

“Hello, little brother,” Morgana smiled. “How like you my new soldiers?”

“I like them not at all, Morgana. What do you want?” Arthur pushed as much courage into his voice as he could manage.

She sighed, disappointed with Arthur’s response. “The throne that is mine by right. And if you will not step aside and give me my due, I will simply take it. I haven’t been idle these past months. I spent the winter gathering an army to me, Arthur. An army of battle-mages. Sorcerers to a one, and trained in the art of war since childhood. They weren't easy to find, I assure you, but every one of them has an unspeakable hatred of the knights of Camelot. I brought seven of my finest with me. One for each of you. Even one for dear Merlin.” That simpering smile had been endearing once. Now, he almost wanted to slap it off her face.

“You will have my life’s blood before you ever sit upon the throne again, Morgana,” Arthur growled, tightening his grip upon his sword, readying his stance to meet the new threat. He heard the rest of the knights do the same.

“That was my intention,” she replied. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, Arthur. I know what you’re thinking, that you defeated an immortal army once, what’s another handful of soldiers against that?  But I am not a girl playing with fire anymore, little brother.” The light in Morgana’s eyes darkened. Her back straightened.

“I am a High Priestess of the Triple Goddess now, blessed by the Morrigan herself. I hold the power of heaven in my hands and no mortal blade can stop me.” Her eyes narrowed, and her head tilted lazily. “ _Bréostwærc_ ,’ she hissed, her hand flicked toward them. Leon gave a sharp cry and dropped to his knees, gasping.

“Leon?” Arthur did not take his eyes off his wayward sister.

“I’ll be all right, Sire,” the knight said. Arthur heard him slowly press back to his feet.

“For now,” Morgana sneered. “What should I do now, Arthur? Should I kill your men one by one until you yield, or should I let my men have some sport? The choice is yours, but the outcome is the same.” She gave him time to respond, but silence ruled the clearing. “Very well, then. I know dying in combat is an honorable way for a knight to die. I will grant you that much.”

“Morgana,” Merlin’s voice sounded from behind Arthur, angry and low, and with a deadly edge Arthur had never heard from his servant before. He risked a glance back at the boy as the battle mages stepped forward. Merlin stood straight, his shoulders squared. An air of authority lay about him, and for a moment, he looked as regal as a king. “Do not do this.”

“Or what, serving boy?’ she hissed, “You’ve no poisons this time. Or are you going to try to talk me to death?” Merlin closed his eyes and bowed his head, his shoulders slumping. An air of resignation fell around him, and then Arthur had to look away as Morgana spoke again, a light of triumph burning again in her eyes. “My knights, to the king,” she ordered languidly.

Arthur steeled himself for a rush, for a magical attack, for anything but their slow, inexorable movement toward the circle of already tired knights of Camelot. “Arthur?” Merlin whispered from behind. The prince risked a glance back to his friend, wishing he could chase away the cloud of defeat that seemed to hang about the boy. “Forgive me.” Merlin looked up at his prince, a pleading look in his eyes as they changed hue, from summer blue to molten gold and from his lips came words in a language Arthur had only heard from his enemies, his voice rising with each word, _“Hwæt, norþanwind þæs holt, béo min þegen! Áscilde se cyning!"_

The wind surged, breathing through the branches above them, picking up dust and leaves as it turned from a spring breeze into a whirlwind that drove the sorcerers to their knees, yet left the clearing in peace. _‘Just like with the bandits in Ealdor,_ ’ Arthur realized. He dimly heard Morgana shout something through the howling wind, and it died down just enough for the sorcerers to rise and rush them, their movements a blur as the knights moved to defend themselves.

 _‘Too slow.’_ He knocked the first three blows away. The effort of it shuddered through his arms into his aching shoulders. The fourth strike he barely caught. The sorcerer’s blade slid along his with a sickening screeee before catching against the hilt of the prince’s sword. If Arthur weakened, he was dead. His enemy’s blade would take him in the throat.

Time seemed to slow. A feral cry sounded in his ears. Arthur couldn’t tell if it was his own voice or another’s. The sorcerer jerked backwards, his neck breaking with a loud crack as he fell. Arthur stuttered forward as another cry, shrill and terrible, broke through the night.

Morgana crouched at the edge of the clearing, one hand locked on a branch to keep herself upright against wind and force. Her eyes burned with fiery golden hate and locked on Merlin. “ _Forslean!_ ” she cried the same time that Merlin shouted “ _Ábirste_!”

Each of the sorcerers dropped to their knees. Merlin recovered first. He raised a hand toward Morgana, another spell flying through the air. “ _Oð hildefreca, béo scylde_.” Nothing seemed to happen until Morgana sent a ball of flame toward the clearing. It slammed against an invisible barrier, rippling in mid-air until it fizzled into nothingness. Morgana shrieked again, sending another bolt of flame to flare out against the shield, sending another wave of sparks over their heads.

Everything stopped.

Without enemies to fight, the knights had turned to gape at Merlin, their swords drawn and ready though they were unsure what to do next. Only Lancelot was calm, his swordpoint lowered and dark eyes on Merlin.

Merlin- _the sorcerer_ \- stared down Morgana from his knees. The priestess glared back, a burning hatred in her eyes. “You . . . “ her mouth worked as though there were ten thousand things she wanted to say but could not give voice to a single one. Instead, she screamed, the same, piercing howl that had brought down a tower in the citadel. All of her fury was directed at Merlin, the force of it driving him down.

He clapped a hand to his head, one hand planted on the ground as though he were trying to pull power out of the earth itself. His head finally rose and he locked gazes with Morgana, his eyes gone forge-bright. “ _Ádílege!_ ” Though his voice was hoarse, there was more venom in that one word than Arthur had ever heard from his servant in all the years the prince had known him. The force of that venom slammed into Morgana. She screamed in despair this time, her dark form disappearing in a tangle of black wisps and wind.

Silence fell. In the aftermath of the battle, their harsh breaths were loud. None of the knights spoke, their anxious gazes darting from each other to Arthur, to Merlin, and back again, as though all were hard-pressed to decide if Morgana’s attack or the revelation of Merlin’s powers was the more shocking event. Arthur simply stared down at his servant, his whirling mind still trying to comprehend the last few minutes.

Merlin curled in on himself, one hand on the ground to hold himself upright, the other pressed against his ribs as though they pained him while he gasped for air. Lancelot was the first to speak. "Merlin. . ?" he asked tentatively.

"I'll live," the sorcerer said haltingly. He raised his head after a long moment to meet Arthur's gaze. The golden light had left his eyes. Under the dark of the moon, all light had left his eyes, leaving them the flat blue of a summer storm. "Arthur . . . " he whispered.

"You are a sorcerer. You have magic." The words nearly caught in Arthur's throat.

"I was born with it. And since I came to Camelot, I have used it to defend the kingdom. To protect you. Arthur, I never-"

"Be silent, Merlin. Another word and I swear to god . . . " he felt his hand tighten on the hilt of his sword and saw them all start, hands on their own weapons. Merlin's shoulders jerked. The color drained from his face. There was a look of fear- and heartbreak- such as Arthur had never seen in his servant's eyes before.

Merlin was afraid.

Afraid of his prince.

Arthur turned away from that awful gaze, forcing his hand to release the sword hilt. What had been in his head in that moment? To kill Merlin then and there, without a trial, for being a sorcerer? ' _For saving our lives?_ '  He drew in a deep breath to settle his nerves. "All these years, you have been at my side, lying to me with every breath. Why?" He turned back, locking gazes with the servant- _'The sorcerer._ '

Tears gathered in Merlin‘s sapphirine eyes. On his knees, with his hands hanging loosely at his sides, palms facing out in supplication, he looked as threatening as a dove. His answer was terrifyingly simple. "For the love of Camelot"

Arthur flinched. A thousand times and more that call had been on his own lips as he charged into battle, and ten thousand times had it echoed back to him from his knights. He never thought he would hear it from a sorcerer's lips, and never with such sincerity. Or in such whispered, broken tones. He found nothing to say in return, nothing to answer Merlin's pleading expression. Nothing to revive the hope draining from his eyes. Was that shame rising in Arthur's throat? He clenched his jaw and tore his gaze away, looking up at the darkening trees around them. Was it too much to hope that this was a horrid dream? That the gloaming was playing tricks on their perception, and none of this had happened at all?

With closed eyes, Arthur looked inward to put a name to the emotions roiling within, the anger, despair, confusion, betrayal. ' _If you attack in anger, you've already lost the battle,'_ his weapons instructor had told him long ago. It was still good advice. He pushed the dark feelings away before they could overwhelm him. "Bind his hands. We’ll return to Camelot in the morning, and I will decide what to do with him then. As for them,” Arthur gestured at the bodies scattered about the edge of the forest, "Find another clearing and burn them. Then get some rest, all of you. I’ll take the first watch.”

A collective sigh breathed through the clearing as Arthur turned away and edged toward the trees. With familiar duties to attend to, the knights set about their work in silence. The only words Arthur heard came from Lancelot, nearly too quiet for him to hear, and yet he did. And they hurt. “I’m sorry, Merlin,” the dark-eyed knight whispered before leading Merlin to sit against an oak tree, his hands loosely bound in front of him, more a token of captivity than anything. Arthur didn’t have the heart to reprimand Lancelot for it. He would have done the same.  

What speech there was that night was done in whispers, and all eyes flickered back and forth between Arthur and Merlin as the knights tried to judge what might happen come morning. For his own part, Merlin simply stared into the fire, save for the moments that he looked up at Arthur, his wide eyes pleading for understanding and mercy.

The prince kept his distance, a silent sentry outside the ring of firelight, his mind awhirl with a thousand thoughts that never settled down to let him chart a path forward. How could he solve a problem like Merlin- the best servant he had ever had, the truest friend he could hope for, who had spent years lying to him?

How could he trust someone who had lied to him for so long?

 

* * *

 

 

Merlin shook himself awake. It wasn’t as though he wanted to ignore sleep’s siren call, or that the thought of sleeping through these hours was unappealing. He just didn’t want to be asleep when Arthur finally made his decision, whenever that would be. Time passed strangely in these dark cells underground. An hour might have passed, or a day. They had fed him once, begrudgingly, setting the scant food and water just outside the cell before scuttling away like beetles, as though afraid he would turn them into actual beetles.

He sighed and drew his knees up to his chest, locking his hands around them and leaning against the wall, his awareness pressing outward. The worked stone slowed him only a little. Living stone was easier to move through, kept its history closer, but all Merlin wanted was a glimpse of the outside, a sense of fresh air and the time of day.

_Sunset . . ._

A day had passed, then, after one of the longest nights of his life. A day spent in the dark, retracing the events of Morgana’s attack to figure out if there had been another way to defeat her without revealing his magic. He had not come up with one thus far. A year ago, Morgana’s power had felt like a fire crackling in a hearth, strong enough to warm a body, but with the potential to become much more. She had reached her potential, though, and will still growing, her strength shivering through his awareness like wind gusting away from a burning building.

The sorcerer-warriors had been powerful, too, in their own ways, and every bit as dangerous as Morgana. _‘If I hadn’t acted, Arthur would have died. They all would have died, and I might have joined them. But was there another way . . . ?’_ Merlin’s heart said no, even though his mind still raced around the possibilities. They would have died if he had done nothing, and died if he had been subtle. Morgana’s final attack against him had been bad enough. Merlin’s ribs still ached from the killing spell he’d deflected, if only just.

No, there had been no good choices, no way of keeping his secret while keeping Arthur alive. He had done his best. Now he could only wait for Arthur and be thankful that it was not Uther making the decision.

 _‘And what if Arthur chooses the same path as his father?_ ’ a little voice in his head asked.

Merlin shook his head in denial. ‘ _Arthur is not Uther,’_ he countered, _‘The half cannot hate that which makes it whole. Arthur would not send me to the pyre.’_

 _‘And yet he nearly burned Gaius, once. And you, though he did not know who you were.’_ The little voice of doubt was persistent. Merlin tried to shove it away, but it kept whispering in spite of his efforts.

Memories of past burnings rose up like smoke, the deaths of sorcerers both good and evil; worst had been the Druids. Sharing his thoughts with Druids was easy as breathing. It was a fine trick for a summer day, or a night when they wanted his attention, but that little blessing had become a horrific curse whenever one was given to the flames. Merlin had deliberately not counted the number of Druids whose slow, awful deaths he had felt even while they burned.

Each time, he’d ghosted around the castle for days, unable to eat or sleep for the screams that haunted his steps. Arthur never taunted him for it, fortunately. The prince seemed only slightly less disturbed than his servant on those days. Uther, Merlin knew, had slept like a child. ‘ _He would execute you. Are you sure his son is any better?’_

Shuddering, Merlin forced himself to focus on the bench beneath him and the stone at his back, anything to get rid of that nagging little voice. “ _Léoht,_ ” he whispered, throwing caution to the wind as the little ball of pale blue light appeared in his cupped hands. He was already in prison for using magic. What harm could a little ball of light do? At least now, he could see more than the thin glow at the end of the corridor. The darkness didn’t press so heavily now.

He spun the little light back and forth between his fingers, flipping it around the way a conjurer might flip a coin, making it disappear and reappear on a whim. A trick to entertain children. Merlin almost smiled at that. He felt like a child, lost in the darkness with little hope of rescue. Only one person could save him, and it was even odds as to whether Arthur would want him alive or dead. Merlin shivered. The light flickered and died.

 _‘Dead or alive,_ ’ that cold voice returned, _‘He won’t want you at his side anymore.’_

A chill settled into his bones. He curled more tightly in on himself, resting his forehead against his knees as the dark thoughts whirled ever more dismal, threatening to destroy what little bit of courage he had built up while waiting through the long day in the dark cells below Camelot.

 _‘He loves you, Merlin. Even if he will not admit it to himself. He would sooner destroy himself than you,’_ another little voice welled up from the depths of his mind. He wanted it to be true, even if there was a very real chance that it was not. He clung to it as a drowning man clings to a bit of driftwood, and waited.

* * *

 

Gaius’s chambers had always been a welcoming place to Arthur, back to the time of his childhood when his worst problems had been skinned knees and caretakers who wouldn’t let him ride his father’s warhorse. Save for the times the physician was cooking up some wretched new potion, the place smelled the way a home should- sweet and warm and clean- and always lit with a hundred bright candles. Arthur hoped the healer wouldn’t throw him out straightaway. Gaius was one of the few in Camelot who could order the prince about, and tonight, Arthur felt like he deserved whatever tongue-lashing the old man felt it necessary to deliver.

He gave two knocks before edging into the room. Gaius looked up from his seat at the table. A flash of hope flared in his eyes before giving way to disappointment at who he found at his doorway. ‘ _It’s because I’m not Merlin,_ ’ Arthur reproached himself, trying not to let the thought act like a handful of salt on raw wounds. “Gaius. I need a word with you. About . . . “he trailed off.

“About Merlin?” the physician finished for him.

Arthur nodded as he took a seat across from Gaius. “How long did you know? About his . . . His magic?” The words still felt strange on his tongue.

“Many years, Sire,” Gaius sighed and wrapped his hands around the clay cup in front of him. The warmth of the steaming contents eased the pain of his arthritic joints. “Since well before he arrived in Camelot. I’ve known his mother since she was a child, and when Merlin started showing signs of having magic, she wrote to me asking what she should do.”

“And so she sent him to Camelot? Where he would be hated and executed if anyone found out?”

Gaius gave him an even look, silently asking the prince to be quiet until he was done with his story. “When he was old enough, we intended for Merlin to be my apprentice. He would learn the physician’s craft as well as how to control his powers. In time, we thought we could send him somewhere where magic wasn’t so feared- Nemeth, perhaps, or Helva. But fate played her hand, and he became your servant. Now, he would not willingly be parted from you, Arthur.”

“He said he was born with magic,” Arthur rested his elbows on the table, settling his chin in his hands, “But I’ve never heard of such a thing. Morgana didn’t have magic when she was a child. She grew into it.”

“Indeed,” Gaius said, “Merlin is unlike any sorcerer I have ever encountered. He could move objects with his mind when he was still in his cradle, and he learns any spell with ease enough to make a High Priestess envious. He outstripped my capabilities long ago and is, for now, still more powerful than Morgana.” He paused, and the unspoken thought, ‘ _Or else you would be dead right now_ ’, hung between them. “I have never met his like before. There are some who believe that Merlin is the most powerful sorcerer who has ever lived.”

“I know little of magic, Gaius. What does that mean?”

The old healer lowered his eyes, focusing briefly on a candle in front of him. It burned low and would likely to go out at any moment. “Sire, if my own, fading powers were as this guttering candle, then Morgana's would be like the citadel on fire.”

“And Merlin?”

“Merlin could set the whole of the kingdom of Camelot ablaze.”

The answer shook Arthur to the core. Morgause had been strong enough to put everyone in the city to sleep; Morgana had destroyed a tower with the power of her voice alone. ‘And Merlin is stronger still?’ He lowered his head further, pressing his thumbs against his temples to ease his aching head. “He said he only used it to defend Camelot. How do I know that’s true?”

“He has always had faith in you, Arthur. You must have faith in him. I could give you a very long list of the things he has done for you, and for the kingdom, but it would count for nothing if you don’t trust him.”

The prince looked up sharply. “Trust him? How can I? For six years he’s been by my side, and neither he nor you ever bothered to tell me this one truth, this most important truth, Gaius. Did you honestly think I would send him to his death?”

“You father would have,” the physician said. He spun the cup in a slow circle in his hands. “I must confess, Sire, that Merlin always wanted to tell you. He wanted you to know, but it was my advice that kept him silent. And fear of your father.”

The fire crackling in the fireplace was the only sound for a long time as Arthur absorbed all that he had heard. A hundred more questions begged to be asked, but they would wait. His head was full enough for the moment. “Thank you, Gaius.” He moved to go, making it to do door before Gaius spoke again.

“Sire?”

Arthur did not turn back. He knew what the question would be. “Yes?”

“What will you do?”

He opened the door. “I don’t know yet. Good night, Gaius.”

The walk back to his chambers was a lonely one. The few who crossed his path quickly moved away at the sight of his stormy expression, even the lord who was always fawning over the prince to curry favor. For his own part, Arthur hardly looked up, the journey familiar enough that he could walk it blind. Tonight, he needed to, for he barely noticed who and what he passed until he reached his chambers and found Lancelot waiting.

The dark-eyed knight stood straight as an arrow against the wall by Arthur‘s door, decked out as formally as he could be, his chain mail shimmering, the golden dragon of Camelot a glossy reminder on his shoulder. “Sire,” he ducked his head as the prince approached, “May I have a word with you?”

Arthur paused, his hand on the door latch. All conversation this night would involve his servant, it seemed. “Of course,” he nodded sharply and gestured for Lancelot to enter. Someone had lit the candles, lending the room a warm glow. He wished he could feel it. “What did you wish to speak with me about?”

His chain of knighthood rattled when Lancelot dropped to a knee, a dozen tiny, penitential chimes as he bowed his head. “I came to speak on Merlin’s behalf. I know the laws regarding magic in Camelot, as well as the laws against harboring sorcerers. By your father‘s law, Merlin should be put to death. I‘ve come to beg for his life.”

"You knew." Arthur rounded on the knight. Was there no one in the kingdom who told the truth?  “You knew what he was, and you kept it from me?”

"Yes, Sire," Lancelot said softly, still kneeling, his eyes downcast. "Forgive me. I said nothing of it because it was a matter of honor."

"Honor?" Arthur spat, incredulous, "How can lying to me be a matter of honor?"

"Merlin used magic to save my life when I rode out to face the griffin. I would be long dead if not for him, and many innocents as well had that creature been allowed to continue its rampage. It would be poor repayment for my life, if I had spoken of it and that information sent him to the pyre. Sire, I will gladly accept whatever punishment you deem necessary- strip me of my knighthood. Cast me into prison. Exile me. But please. Spare Merlin."

Arthur turned on his heel and stalked toward the windows, determined not to speak until his anger cooled somewhat.

Camelot glittered under the velvet night, a thousand lights from a thousand windows turned the dark stone into a jeweled ornament in the vastness of the world. A soft breeze carried the sound of laughter and music up to him. A pang of jealousy stabbed at him, that others were carrying on being happy when he could not. ‘ _That’s a child’s response,_ ’ A voice seemed to whisper. It sounded like Merlin.

Arthur sighed and closed the window. “I have no intention of executing Merlin, Lancelot. I never did. I . . . I thought I could trust the people around me, and now I find that Merlin kept this from me. So did Gaius. And now you. Did the rest of you know? Gwaine? Percival? Anyone? Look at me!” Arthur nearly shouted the last.

Lancelot raised his head, his eyes calm and clear as he met his prince’s gaze. “No, Sire. To my knowledge, only Gaius and I knew. We didn’t speak of it unless it was absolutely necessary. I know I have broken the law, and I know there is no excusing it, but it was done in the name of friendship and loyalty. Merlin is one of the best men I have had the privilege to know, and I did not want to see any harm come to him.”

He nearly faltered under the weight of Lancelot’s calm and, dare he say, righteousness. Sir Lancelot the Bright, the people called him, and not because his armor was well-polished. They said he had no sin on his conscience, but Arthur had found one. A lie of omission was still a lie, but the prince found he couldn’t blame the knight for it. Loyalty counted for much in Arthur’s mind. And yet. . .

“Thank you, Lancelot. I will keep your words in mind. Now, please. Go. I need time to think.” Arthur turned back to the window, ignoring the knight’s quiet acknowledgment when he left.

Time passed, an hour or so, Arthur would have guessed. There was a knock at the door followed by the rattle of it opening. The patter of familiar footfalls broke the quiet.

“They say you’ve not eaten today,” Guinevere said softly, “I figured someone should take care of you, since you wouldn’t see to it yourself. I know you have a lot on your mind,” She set the tray on the table, arranging the dishes in their proper places and pulling the chair out for him when she was done. “Is there anything else I can do for you? Arthur?” He heard her drift toward him, felt her hand on his shoulder.

“Tell me what I should do.” He stepped away from the window to look her in the eye. A lock of her dark hair had fallen across her forehead. He brushed it away. “I feel like I’m lost in the woods, Guinevere, with no star left to guide me. Merlin . . . Merlin has magic.”

“I know,” she breathed.

“You do?” Arthur’s brow furrowed.

She nodded. “Elyan told me after you came home this morning. He said you ordered the guards to take Merlin to the dungeons, and that no one was to see him. Are you sure that was the right thing to do?”

Arthur’s jaw clenched. “My mother died because of magic. This kingdom was nearly torn apart because of it. So many sorcerers have tried to kill my father and me . . . And you-” Arthur spun away as his voice nearly broke. He drew in a long breath before continuing, “How many have died because of what Morgause and Morgana did? I have seen nothing but evil done with magic in my life, and now I find that my own servant is a sorcerer. By all the laws I am sworn to uphold, I should be building a pyre for him right now.”

“You listen to me, Arthur Pendragon!” Guinevere’s voice rang with steel, “There is no one more loyal to you than Merlin. He would not think twice about sacrificing himself for you, and you know it.”

“He is a sorcerer.”

“He is your _friend_ , Arthur. Isn’t that one of the qualities that you, as a knight- as the future king- are supposed to uphold- friendship? As well as courage and loyalty?”

Lesser men would have quailed at the look in Guinevere’s eyes. Arthur managed not to, but only just. “He lied to me.”

“Don’t you think he was afraid, Arthur? If your father had known, don’t you think he would have sent Merlin to the pyre without a second thought? How much courage has Merlin had to have, how much faith in you does he have, to stay at your side, knowing that the smallest slip of the tongue could lead to his death?” She rested her hands on his shoulders and looked him in the eye until he broke away, cowed by the intensity of her gaze.

“He lied to me,” Arthur said again, softly, “How can I trust him, when he wouldn’t trust me with the truth about himself? Can you honestly tell me that you’re not upset at him?”

Guinevere pulled away, her jaw set. Her eyes were awash with disappointment. “Am I upset at Merlin? Yes, a little. I wish he had trusted me. But do you know what else I wish for, Arthur? A kingdom where we forgive our friends for their mistakes and where years of loyalty aren’t forgotten in a night. And mostly, I wish for a kingdom where equality is more than just a word we say. Merlin saved your life last night. He saved all your lives. Had he used a sword, all of Camelot would be praising him right now, but because he used magic to do it, he’s locked away in some cold, dark cell. He is your friend, Arthur. Don’t forget that.”

“Then what would you have me do?” Arthur asked as she whirled and strode toward the door.

She turned back to face him again, her face limned by candlelight. “Stop hiding in your chambers and talk to him. You won’t find out why he kept his magic from you any other way. And mostly, I want you to ask yourself if those knightly qualities you swear to uphold are more than just words to you.” In the moment before she turned away again, Guinevere looked a thousand times nobler than Arthur felt. Then the moment was lost and she was gone, his chamber door slamming shut in her wake.

 

* * *

 

They had locked Merlin in the lower dungeon, away in a cramped black cell where the only light came from a scant few torches set into the damp walls. Arthur had not ordered him put down here. He had not told them to take him anywhere at all ‘Except  to the dungeons,’ he mused, remembering a time when he had made this same walk to find Merlin before, when the witchfinder had accused Merlin of sorcery. The irony of it lay bitterly in his throat, though he shied away from speculating about what might have happened had Gaius not given himself up for his ward.  
 ****

He had done enough speculating across the long night. After Guinevere’s abrupt departure no one had come to disturb his thoughts, and while Arthur was not sure his ultimate decision was the right one, it was the only one that felt just.

“Arthur?” Merlin’s voice echoed out of the darkness. He was in the last cell in the row, well beyond the dim circle of the light of the torches. Arthur yanked one out of its sconce and shoved it into place nearest Merlin‘s cell. The sorcerer appeared out of the shadows, wincing at the light. An ember of anger burned in Arthur’s chest, but he could not tell if he was angry at the way Merlin had been treated, or at Merlin himself.

They regarded each other for a long time. The flickering light and the bars cast strange shadows on Merlin’s face, carving the hollows of his face even deeper and darkening the blue of his eyes to the color of heavy storm clouds. He suddenly looked like a stranger. “It’s like I don’t even know you anymore,” Arthur said at last.

“I’m still the same person you knew two days ago. I am who I have always been, Arthur. I told you once that I’m happy to be your servant- until the day I die, and that hasn’t changed. It never will. I haven’t changed, Arthur. . .  Please.” Merlin reached toward the bars, and then stopped, letting his hand drop back to his side.

Arthur clenched his jaw and fought to keep his voice low. “I knew a servant two days ago. Now . . . Now I don’t even know what you are. A sorcerer? Gaius says sorcerers learn and develop their powers as they older. You said you were born with them. What does that make you?”

“Destined. . .” Merlin said softly, his eyes going distant. “It is my destiny to protect you.”

“I didn’t need protection, Merlin. I needed the truth, and you never saw fit to trust me with it. All these years you have been by my side, and you never really trusted me. Now I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what you are or what you’ve done.” Arthur shook his head and took a step back. He wanted to rage at fate, break the bars between them, shake some sense into Merlin. He wanted the same anger and accusations turned back on him. Anything but these quiet, heartbroken answers. Arthur knew how to deal with anger; despair left him adrift. "You killed those men. With a word and a gesture, seven men lay dead, and then you turned and drove Morgana away with a wave of your hand. What would you have done if I had drawn steel on you? What would you have done if I'd turned to kill you?"

"I might have let you. Gods help me, I might have let you." Merlin's voice broke. The last was barely above a whisper.

"Why?"

Merlin looked up again. His eyes glistened in the scant light. "Because I couldn't bear to live in a world where you wanted me dead, Arthur."

Arthur forced himself to match his servant's gaze and face the despair he saw there, memories flashing through his mind of burnings, beheadings, and hangings. Dozens, if not hundreds executed in the main square for practicing sorcery, for harboring sorcerers- for the mischance of knowing a sorcerer . . . His heart flinched away from every imagining that ended in Merlin's death. Perhaps magic was not always so evil. He could not imagine Morgana’s deeds coming from Merlin, and yet he could not shake away the years of lies. Lies that Merlin had told. Lies from Gaius and Lancelot. Lies, and their lack of faith in their prince. How could Arthur trust any of them with his life now, when they could not find it within themselves to trust him with the truth? He swallowed against the knot growing in his throat.

“By my father’s law, I should sentence you to death,“ Arthur said at last. “I don't want to see you dead, Merlin, but I don't want to see you." Merlin shuddered. "You are banished from Camelot and all its domains and are forbidden to return under pain of death. The guards will see you to your chambers. Collect your things and be gone by midday."

The despair in Merlin's eyes faded into numbness. He finally nodded and looked back at the floor. His shoulders slumped. Arthur turned on his heel and walked swiftly away. His hand tightened into a fist, fingernails digging into the flesh of his palm. The pain of it was welcome, for it gave Arthur a distraction from the ache in his heart.

* * *

 

Merlin didn’t hear the cell door open. He hardly felt the guards’ hands on his arms as they ushered him out. Arthur’s words kept echoing in his head. _I don’t know who you are anymore. . . I don’t want to see you. . ._

The painful light of the sun finally brought him back to himself. He winced, blinking at the bright stone corridors as they seemed to rush by. A pair of laundresses stared wide-eyed as they passed. ‘ _Do they know?_ ’  He wondered. Was it all over the palace by now, this news of his magic? Or were the girls merely curious as to why Arthur’s manservant was being escorted by a pair of Camelot’s guards? It didn’t even matter, he finally decided. Those girls could say what they pleased. Arthur had exiled him, and nothing else mattered.

Gaius and Guinevere were waiting when he arrived. Both nearly knocked over their chairs as they rushed to him; Gwen wrapped a hug around him while Gaius gave the guards a ferocious glare and made them wait outside. _‘I will miss this,_ ’ he thought as he returned Gwen’s hug, biting his lip to keep tears at bay.

“What did Arthur decide?” Gaius finally asked.

Merlin tried to smile and failed. “I’ve been exiled. Arthur doesn’t want me here anymore, and I don’t think it was my magic that angered him so much as the fact that I kept it from him.” He picked at a loosed thread on his sleeve, felt tears roll down his cheeks. “And all this time, I’ve wanted nothing more than to tell him. But it was always too dangerous. Now it’s come to this.” He forced a smile onto his face but it felt more like a bitter grimace. He let it fade.

“Where will you go?” Guinevere trapped his fidgeting hands between her own.

He shrugged and looked away, drinking in the healer’s chambers one last time, memorizing the clutter of books and vials, the way the sun streamed in through the window, the dust motes that sparkled in the light, and the assorted arrangements of candles. He had always complained about lighting all those candles. Now he would give anything to be able to complain about the task again.

“I can hardly leave Camelot,” he finally answered.

“Merlin! It will mean your death if you’re caught,” Gaius caught his arm as though he were about to shake his apprentice.

“Gaius,” Merlin’s smile turned genuine, “I’ve lived with the threat of death hanging over me all my life. The only thing that’s changed is the reason. Morgana is a high priestess now. Her powers have grown and she is still intent on claiming the throne. She has no qualms about killing whoever gets in her way. And she knows about me now, too. My destiny hasn’t changed because Arthur knows. It’ll just be a little harder now.”

“Have you forgiven him so easily?” Gaius asked as he and Guinevere followed Merlin to his room.

“I think it’s in my nature to forgive him. No matter what. It’s so easy to forgive Arthur.” Though why it was, he would never know. So many terrible things could be laid at the feet of the Pendragons, and yet Merlin never blamed Arthur for it. Not even for Freya. Beautiful, lost Freya. . . He swallowed hard and pushed the memories away. “It’s much harder to forgive myself. This is my fault. I should have told him. I could have, so many times.” He swiped at his eyes and started tossing his meager possessions onto the bed.

“Merlin, look at me,” Guinevere said, her tone so commanding that he could not resist. She reached up, her hands on either side of his face. “This is not your fault. This is . . .” There were tears in her eyes, “Everyone made mistakes, Merlin, but that’s all they were. Just mistakes. You may have magic, but you’re still as fallible as the rest of us. So don’t you dare blame yourself.” She pulled his face toward her and laid a kiss on his forehead. “Sometimes I think you’re too good for us. Promise me you’ll take care of yourself?”

He could not resist the pleading look in her eyes as he took her small hands in his. “As well as I can. I promise.”

Gwen’s smile could have melted all the snows of winter. “Thank you. Do you need help . . . packing?” She looked down at the tiny pile of clothes and sundry items on the bed. His life’s collection. It would fit into a single bag.

“You’ll need this,” Gaius stepped up into the room carrying his old medicine satchel. It bulged with its hastily packed contents, the worn leather threatening to split apart here and there where the seams were wearing out. A little sprig of mint had snuck out of a compartment and peeked around the closure.

Merlin shook his head, “Gaius, I can’t take that.”

“You’ll need it,” the old healer held the bag out until Merlin reluctantly took hold of it. “If you insist on wandering around in the outlying lands you’ll need an occupation to keep you fed. No one cares what a healer’s name is, or what his past has been so long as their children get well again. If you’re going to continue being foolish, then at least keep your head down.” The lines in Gaius’s face deepened. “Oh, my boy,” his voice cracked, “How did it come to this?”

Merlin wrapped his mentor in a long hug. “It’ll be all right, Gaius. I don’t know how, but someday, it will be all right,” he promised, though how things could ever turn out for the best now was beyond him. He looked out the window. Outside, the shadows reached toward noon. “I have to go,” he sniffed, but smiled at them anyway as he slowly walked to the door. “I don’t know where I’ll go, but when I get there, I’ll try to let you know. And promise me you’ll look after Arthur? He gets himself in terrible trouble otherwise.”

Gwen laughed despite her tears, “I will. And remember your promise.”

“I will. Well,” he cast a final glance around the chambers he had called home for so long before looking back at his mentor and his friend, holding their gazes one by one until he could not bear it anymore. “Good-bye.” He closed the door behind him as gently as he could, before his resolve could fail him. It still sounded overly loud to his ears.

With a final swipe at his eyes, he made his way toward the courtyard, taking the back ways to avoid as many people as possible until he reached the main staircase and it became impossible. Five knights waited for him in the sunlight at the bottom of the stairs. Lancelot, Gwaine, Elyan, Percival, and even Leon, looking a bit browbeaten and sheepish. All of them there with smiles on their faces- sad ones, yes, but smiles all the same- and good wishes for Merlin as he left.

It gave him a reason to smile on the worst day of his life. Five knights of Camelot had seen his magic, knew that he had spent his life concealing it, and accepted him back among them without question. ‘ _Brothers, indeed.’_ Merlin didn’t even protest as Gwaine ruffled his hair, or when Percival’s friendly clap on the shoulder nearly bowled him over. When the last good-byes had ended, Merlin walked a score of paces away and paused to turn in a slow circle. So much of his life was woven into this place, and now? Now he would have to rebuild. His gaze found Arthur’s window.

He watched it for a long moment until he saw a flash of movement behind the panes. _‘I see you there, Arthur.’_ A knowing smile spread across the warlock’s face. _‘Don’t think I didn’t see you seeing me off. And don’t think you’ll be rid of me so easily.’_ He nodded once at the window and the prince behind it, then turned and walked away. Years before, he had walked into Camelot with all his worldly possessions slung over his shoulder. Now he was leaving Camelot the same way. Destiny had woven a strange web around him, but then, as now, Merlin was ready to face whatever it had in store for him.

* * *

 

Arthur turned away from the window. He had not meant for Merlin to see him; he thought he had been far enough away from the panes that his presence would go unnoticed, but that slow, sad smile on the sorcerer’s face told him otherwise. He forced himself to stay there until Merlin disappeared around the corner and for a long time after. _‘Never to return,’_ his thoughts lay heavily on his conscience, ‘Exiled by my command. For practicing magic. For lying to me all these years.’ His thoughts spun in endless circles, wrapping around themselves until he couldn’t tell if it was the fact of the magic or the lies that had set him off.

He sat down heavily in the chair at his desk, his gaze roving over the work left over from before the hunt, arranged in the careless organization that Merlin had mastered over the years, with ink and quills and parchment set in just the way Arthur preferred, and the various treaties and decrees stacked neatly on the corner. An apple sat atop them, a makeshift paperweight that doubled as a snack for the times he worked late into the night.

With a sudden burst of anger, Arthur swiped the apple away, sending the parchments flying with it. _‘If only he wasn’t so good at all this ._ . .’ He rubbed a hand over his aching eyes. If only Merlin weren't so good at keeping Arthur’s life in order, if only he weren't such a good friend, then sending him away would not hurt so much, as though he had drawn a dagger and stabbed himself in the chest, barely missing his heart.

_‘No. He is a sorcerer, and sorcery for any reason is against the law in Camelot. By all rights, I should have sentenced him to death. Exile was the merciful choice. Sorcery is a crime.’_

Maybe if he told himself that enough he would start to believe it. Until then, he had a desk full of paperwork to see about. Arthur pulled himself to his feet and bent to collect the scattered sheets. Whoever would serve as his next manservant, Arthur did not intend to let him see the results of a childish tantrum. _‘Your actions speak louder than your words'_ , Merlin had once said. And he was right. Damn him, Merlin was always right.

Arthur caught a glimpse of one particular decree. It stopped him cold when he realized what it was- Cador’s request to return Camelot to the witch-hunting practices that had occurred during the Great Purge. He remembered the afternoon he and the Marcher Lords had spent arguing about it. They wanted to hire witchfinders and continue the pretense of trials that ended with burnings and beheadings. Arthur had tabled the notion to shut them up. He had not given the decree a second thought since then, but it all sprang up unbidden now. Along with another worm of guilt that started eating at his gut again.

Merlin had attended that day, refilling wine and fetching this item or that for the assembly. And keeping silent as some of the most powerful men in the kingdom of Camelot declared that he was an evil creature, that he was a cancer on the land that deserved to be hunted down and burned alive for the magic flowing through his veins. He had kept his eyes low and his tongue behind his teeth while Arthur failed to disagree with the lords, ending the discussion because he was tired of it, not because he opposed their views.

 _‘What went through your head that day, Merlin? Did you hate me for it?’_ Arthur sank to his knees as he read and re-read the parchment. How many times had Merlin’s heart been broken for Arthur’s sake? He thought back to all the times Merlin had disappeared and returned days later with some flimsy excuse. The times he had gone about his duties like a ghost drifting about the castle. The times he had affirmed Arthur’s distrust in magic.

What had Merlin endured for Arthur’s sake, while his prince strutted about in willful ignorance? _‘I didn’t know,’_ some childish part of him said. He quashed it. _‘I didn’t want to know. All the strange behavior, the disappearances . . . I could have asked for the reasons. I could have kept asking until I got the truth out of him, but I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to see. All those lies are as much my fault as his.’_

 The parchment trembled in his hand. Arthur let it fall back to the floor as he tightened his fingers into a fist to make them stop shaking. _‘How many times can a heart break before it can’t be put back together? How many times does a man have to hear that he’s evil before he starts to believe it? Is that what happened to Morgana?’_ His gaze went to the fire before him. He nearly flinched away, remembering all the burnings he had witnessed, but forced himself to face it and the memories. _‘Did I just make the worst mistake of my life?’_

 Arthur brushed at his eyes again, cursing the wetness he found there. It was too late to turn back. He had given the order, and Merlin was gone. Now he would have to live with the consequences, whatever they might be. There was only one thing he could do now. _‘Something I should have done days ago . . .’_

 With a flick of the wrist, Arthur took up the witch-hunting decree and cast it into the fire. It smoldered for a while before pale fingers of flame burst up and devoured the parchment. _‘Do one last thing for me, Merlin,_ ’ he thought as he watched it dissolve into ash, _‘Wherever you go, be safe.’_

 


End file.
